Excerpt of Amazing Gracie by Laura Drake

Chapter 1

Released from hell-hole duty overseas, most soldiers raced home. ‘CJ’ Maxwell trudged. She’d kept a low profile, but the flight was commercial, and she had to be in uniform. If one more person would have thanked her for her service, she’d have hurled.

Heroes deserved a welcome, not f*ck ups. A Less Than Honorable discharge was a fly’s weight compared to the elephant of remorse sitting on her soul. She hadn’t known there were mistakes you couldn’t come back from. Each one of her three friends’ faces flitted through her mind. Faces their families would never see again. Faces she’d never see again. And it was her fault. Eyes downcast, she scuttled through the airport, ducked into the first bathroom and changed to a different camouflage; one that let her hide in this environment.

On her way out, she dropped the purple heart in its velvet-lined box into the trash and walked into the Southern California sunshine.

Hours later, in the sunbaked street outside Victorville, California, she stepped from the rental car to stand before the dusty, stuccoed crackerbox her memory had led her to. Sweat gathered in her armpits, luring her back into the cool car and the siren’s call of the interstate. After all, if they were still here after six years, it would be a world’s record. What was that old saying? Home was the place they had to let you in? “Close enough for government work.” She mumbled.

Not that she’d ever see government work again.

She was almost to the cracked cement walk when a shirtless guy came out of the battered one-car garage, confirming she was in the right place. He had the stamp of all her mother’s boyfriends: long, lean and hungry as a desert coyote.

He swiped oily hair out of his face and turned that hungry look on her—up, then down. “Hey, pretty lady. You lost?”

“Nope.” Not lost. Not pretty. Not a lady. She turned at the sidewalk and took the broken steps to bang on the storm door.

Her mother opened it. The years had not been kind to Patsy: frizzy red hair, a sallow complexion, skinny freckled legs, and a barfly’s paunch. Named for Patsy Cline, she’d always aspired to be a singer, but the closest she’d gotten was warming a barstool on Karaoke night.

Jaded? Sure. But CJ had survived too many moves, too many boyfriends and way too many let downs for a tear-filled family reunion. “Hi Patsy.” She forced a smile that only made it to one side of her mouth.

“Well I’ll be damned.” The door squealed open.

They stood eyeing each other.

“You comin’ in Cora Jean, or you gonna stand on the porch gawking all day?” Patsy turned and walked into the shadowy interior.

CJ caught the door and stepped in, inhaling the old grease, cigarettes and failed dreams of home. This was the price she’d pay to see her sister. She followed her mother to the kitchen. “The landlord still hasn’t changed this nasty carpet?”

“Cheap bastard. But if he did, he’d probably raise the rent, so…” Patsy’s lighter clicked. “You want tea?” The words trailed on a cloud of smoke.

“Sure.” The Formica table was the same one she’d done her homework at in high school. The chairs didn’t match; when one fell apart, they found another at the Trade-a-Rama.

Patsy opened the fridge and took out the same stained plastic iced tea pitcher. “How long you on leave for?”

CJ’s stomach squirmed, but she wasn’t going to lie. “Forever.”

“What?”  She took glasses from the cupboard and turned, cigarette dangling from her lips. “You said the Army was your career. You said—”

“Plans change, okay?” When her words bounced off the too-close walls, she dialed back the volume. She didn’t want more questions. “Can I stay a couple days?”

“This is still your home.” Patsy took a deep hit on her cigarette, set it in the ashtray on the table, then carried over the glasses of tea. “You’ll have to bunk with Gracie though, unless you want the couch.”

CJ glanced to the flowered, butt-sprung monstrosity, trying not to imagine what the stains were from. “If she’ll have me.”

“Oh, she’ll be delighted. She’s told all the kids at school about her sister, the soldier-super-hero.”

Great. The weight she carried dug into her shoulders. How do you explain to a nine-year-old that her hero was the opposite?

“Well, I’m glad you’re outta that shithole. You were in danger over there.”

“Mom, I fixed trucks. I didn’t ride them into battle.” Except for that last time, and that sure wasn’t on purpose.

“What are you going to do now?”

Her mother’s interest in anyone outside herself was less than skin-deep, and for once, CJ was grateful for it. “I’m buying a motorcycle and touring the U.S. for the summer. After that, we’ll see.”

“Wow.” She leaned forward, a familiar glint in her eye. “You must have made serious money over there.”

CJ knew a plea for a ‘loan’ wouldn’t be far away. “Not really. I just saved it all. I’ve been planning this for a while.” She took a sip of the too-sweet tea. “I just need a couple days to buy a bike and everything I’ll need, then I’ll be out of your hair.”